I forgot I had this. I never forgot the dreamcatcher. I had it up in my room for years. Its kept somewhere now. Dusty and full of old dreams.
Like inception, it is like an old man, filled with regret.
Look, I said, he was real. The quenya writing, the words, the very rare signature, the handwriting.
Look, I said, he is still somewhere out there. I must find him.
I send to you, my friend,
a gift to catch your dreams,
that you may as I
find some solace away
from this reality.
Yet be wary not to fall
as I have fallen far from aid,
for what feathers as we may have
will not suffice
and we can only pray.
“Le vent aux vos ailes”